155 Chapter 155


    Seraphina’s POV 1


    The apartment was a dump.


    There was no other word for it. Peeling paint on the walls. A faucet that dripped constantly no matter how tight I turned it. A radiator


    that nged like someone was beating it with a hammer every few hours.


    But it was mine. For now.


    I sat on the threadbare couch I’d bought from a secondhand store,ptop bnced on my knees, scrolling through job listings that all


    seemed to require experience I didn’t have. Or at least, experience I couldn’t exin.


    *Administrative Assistant – 3 years experience required.*


    *Receptionist – Must have verifiable employment history.*


    *Data Entry Clerk – References from previous employers mandatory.*


    How was I supposed to exin that myst job was as a high-level assistant to an Alpha werewolf who ran a supernatural business


    empire? That I’d managed pack politics and territory negotiations and life-or-death situations on a daily basis?


    I couldn’t. Which meant I was nobody. A woman with no work history, no references, no proof that I was capable of anything.


    My phone buzzed. A text from Margaret.


    *”How’s the job hunt going, sweetheart? Thinking of you!”*


    I stared at the message for a long moment, my chest tight. Four days since I’d left their house.


    *”Good! Had a few interviews.


    call soon.”*


    Myptop screen showed seventeen rejections in my email inbox. Seventeen polite “thank you for your interest” messages that all said


    the same thing: *Not qualified. Not enough experience. Not what we’re looking for.*


    I mmed theptop shut and stood up, pacing the small living room like a caged animal. The walls felt like they were closing in.


    *This is ridiculous,* I told myself firmly. *You’re being dramatic. Plenty of people start over. Plenty of people build new lives from


    nothing.*


    My phone rang. Unknown number.


    “Hello?”


    “Hi, is this Sarah?” A woman’s voice, professional but friendly. “This is Jennifer from Marketing Solutions. We received your application


    for the receptionist position.”


    My heart jumped. “Yes! Yes, this is Sarah.”


    “Great! I was hoping we could set up an interview for tomorrow morning. Would ten o’clock work for you?”


    08:31


    “Absolutely. That would be perfect.”


    “Wonderful. We’re located downtown, 1247 Pine Street, Suite 304. Just bring a copy of your resume and be prepared to discuss your experience with customer service.”


    “I’ll be there,” I said. “Thank you so much for the opportunity.”


    “Looking forward to meeting you, Sarah.”


    The line went dead, and I stared at my phone with something that might have been hope. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the break I needed.


    I spent the rest of the evening practicing answers to interview questions in front of my bathroom mirror.


    *”Tell me about yourself.”*


    **I’m a dedicated professional looking for a fresh start in a new city”* True, even if it left out the part about abandoning my werewolf family.


    *”What’s your greatest weakness?”*


    *”I sometimes care too much.”*


    *”Where do you see yourself in five years?”*


    *”Building a stable career and contributing to a growingpany.”*


    The interview was a disaster.


    Jennifer turned out to be a sharp-eyed woman in her forties who asked all the wrong questions.


    “I noticed some gaps in your employment history,” she said, scanning my carefully crafted resume. “Can you exin the period between


    2018 and now?”


    “I was… caring for family members,” I said, my palms sweating. “It required my full attention.”


    “I see. And before that, your experience was primarily in…” She squinted at the page. “Administrative support for a family business?”


    “Yes. I handled scheduling, correspondence, conflict resolution…”


    “Conflict resolution?”


    Shit. “Minor disputes. Customerints. That sort of thing.”


    She made a note on my resume. Not a good note, judging by her expression.


    “And you don’t have any references from this family business?”


    “Unfortunately, no. The… business closed. Family members relocated.”


    More notes. Definitely not good ones.


    “Well, Sarah,” Jennifer set down my resume with the kind of finality that meant bad news. “You seem like a lovely person, but we’re really


    looking for someone with more verifiable experience.


    “I understand,” I said quietly. “Thank you for your time.”


    I walked out of that office building feeling smaller than I had in years. On the street, people rushed past me like I was invisible. Which, I


    guess, I was.


    Just another nobody in a city full of nobodies.


    By evening, I was emotionally wrung out. Seven interviews in four days. Seven rejections. Seven variations of “not qualified” and “not what we’re looking for.”


    I dragged myself to the small grocery store three blocks from my apartment, my list pathetically short: bread, peanut butter, instant


    noodles. Th


    st food I could find that wouldst more than one meal.


    oney wouldn’tst forever. At this rate, it wouldn’tst the month.


    nt lights in the store were harsh and buzzing, making everything look sickly yellow. I grabbed a basket and wandered the


    As reaching for a loaf of generic white bread when I felt it. That prickle between my shoulder des that used to mean my wolf


    ses were picking up potential danger.


    I turned casually, scanning the store. A few other shoppers browsing the aisles. The teenage cashier looking bored out of his mind.


    Nothing obviously threatening.


    But the feeling persisted.


    I finished my shopping quickly, paid for my pathetic groceries, and headed out into the darkening street. It was only seven o’clock, but


    the days were getting shorter, shadows lengthening between buildings.


    My apartment was a fifteen-minute walk. Easy. Safe. This was a decent neighborhood, not the kind of ce where women got mugged


    walking home with groceries.


    But halfway there, I heard them.


    Footsteps.


    Not the casual footsteps of someone else walking home. These were deliberate. Matching my pace. When I slowed down, they slowed


    down. When I sped up, they sped up.


    My heart started racing, that familiar flood of adrenaline that used to trigger my wolf’s protective instincts. But there was no wolf


    anymore. Just me, alone, carrying a bag of groceries and trying not to panic.


    *Don’t be paranoid,* I told myself. *Lots of people walk the same route. It’s probably nothing.*


    I turned left at the next corner, taking a slightly longer route home. The footsteps turned too.


    *Okay. Not nothing.*


    08:31


    314


    ?????? ???


    I ducked into a 24-hourundromat, pretending to check the prices on the washing machines while watching the street through the


    window.


    A man walked past. Mid-thirties, maybe, Jeans and a rumpled jacket. Nothing obviously threatening about him except for the way he slowed down as he passed theundromat. The way his head turned slightly toward the window.


    And the distinct smell of alcohol that drifted in when someone opened the door behind me.


    *He’s drunk.*


    I waited five minutes, pretending to read notices on the bulletin board, before venturing back outside. The street looked empty. Normal.


    I made it another two blocks before I heard the footsteps again.


    This time, I didn’t hesitate. I pulled out my phone and started walking faster, my thumb hovering over Caleb’s number. He was three


    hours away, too far to help, but at least someone would know where I was if something happened.


    “Come on,e on,” I muttered, my breathing in short puffs in the cold air.


    The footsteps behind me sped up too.